Dream Sweet Dreams for Me
by TheFlyingWriter-01
Summary: Paul wakes John up in the middle of the night. (Beatles Kid AU again, for some reason :'D)


"Hey, John?"

It was a small voice that pierced the silence. Gentle and polite. "Oh, he sounds just like a little bird!" the old ladies would croon after hearing it. John wanted to laugh whenever they'd say that, because it was such a trick! If only they knew how curt that little bird could be, when he'd had enough. Or how loud, when he _hadn't_ had enough. Speaking of loud…

The voice was a whisper, sure, but it was… a bit too loud of a whisper, considering the time and their sleeping roommates. John rolled his eyes. That silly little bird… he was always too loud, wasn't he? Too full of ideas, too eager to be heard, too willing to be noticed.

That was Paul for you.

"…John, are you awake?" the voice whispered again, still a bit louder than he should've been.

John waited a few moments, staring at the ceiling, before replying. "…No."

Paul echoed his pause. "…But your eyes're open."

"Are they?"

"They are. I can see 'em."

John immediately squeezed his eyes shut.

"There!" Paul cried, his whisper rising by another decibel. "You've just closed 'em."

John grinned to himself, feigning ignorance. "You must be seeing things, Paulie; they've been closed the whole time." He couldn't see Paul smiling back, but he could certainly hear it.

"They have _not_!" the younger boy giggled. "Stop teasing."

John sighed dramatically and rolled over in bed to face the voice. "Alright, you've got me. I've been awake all along." He didn't have his glasses on, but they wouldn't have been much help anyway, because it was so dark. If it wasn't for the dim light peeking through the bedroom door, John might not have been able to see Paul at all.

Paul just grinned at him, blinking in the darkness.

"…Alright, what's the problem, then?" John asked, sitting up and mirroring Paul's position without realizing it. "You wanted me awake, and now you've got it."

Even with all the darkness and blurry vision, John could see Paul's smile fall. The younger boy hesitated, and that was… unusual; Paul rarely _ever_ hesitated. On a regular day, he'd be up and bursting with things to say from the early morning to the late evening. Unless he was eating, Paul was probably talking. Sometimes even _then_.

(…Just like a little bird, John supposed.)

And then his ears twitched. Paul had said something, surely, but for the first time since they'd met, the boy was too quiet to hear.

John raised an eyebrow. "…How's that?"

A mumble again, only slightly louder than before.

John yawned. "Speak up, then, before I fall back asleep."

Paul huffed irritably, as though _John_ was the one being difficult. "…Why don't you just listen better? I don't like having to say it."

"Why, s'it something bad?" John said teasingly. Though come to think of it, he wasn't sure what answer he wanted.

Paul hesitated again, and somehow that was worse than a 'yes' or 'no.'

"…You're alright, aren't you?" John asked, feeling suddenly very concerned.

"I think so. M'just…" Paul paused, then mumbled the rest of his sentence again.

John huffed, his concern immediately replaced with irritation and contempt, now that Paul's wellbeing was confirmed. "…Look, if you're not gonna tell me, then just say so, 'cause I'm tired." With that, John rolled back over in bed, effectively giving Paul the cold shoulder.

"Ugh! I _am_ telling you," Paul insisted, sounding simultaneously irritated and desperate.

"Well, I guess I'm just not a good enough _listener_, then," John hissed back. "…Why don't you go and bother someone else?"

He could hear the smug look in Paul's voice. "'Cause you're not asleep, like everyone else."

John made obnoxious snoring noises.

"Ugh! Stop it," Paul complained. "You're not really asleep, and I know it."

"Yeah, well, I _would_ be, if you'd stop _whining_ already."

"…I'm _not_ whining," Paul insisted after a beat. "I'm…" He paused.

John snored loudly again, and this time, Paul didn't respond. There was a long silence, longer than any of the others, and John wondered if the conversation was over.

He stared at the ceiling for a little bit, then at the wall, then back at the ceiling again. Then he stared at the shadow in the corner, and then back at the wall, and _then_ the ceiling again. He could see George and Ritchie's beds from the corner of his eye, but he'd have to turn towards Paul again if he really wanted to take a look, so he stared at the ceiling again instead, and then the shadow, and then the window, and then the wall, and _then_ the ceiling again.

…He wasn't as annoyed, now that it had been a few minutes, and he did feel a bit bad about ignoring Paul. But then, it wasn't _his_ fault the younger boy was being dodgy about everything. Paul was rarely so reserved, _especially_ not towards John; they told each other _everything_.

John shivered beneath his sheets, even though he wasn't really very cold.

…Alright, so _maybe_ it bothered him a _little_ that Paul was being a tad secretive about what was troubling him. After all, didn't Paul trust him enough to just tell him what was wrong? John would've told _him_, if _he'd_ had a secret… wouldn't he?

His original state of bothered had quickly risen to irritated and then to angry, without conscious permission from John himself. It just sort of… _happened_, and then he was snapping at Paul before he could stop himself. It was something that happened a lot – not _just_ with Paul, but definitely _mostly_ with him – and so he got in trouble for it a lot. Immediately, Brian would make them begrudgingly apologize, and by a half hour or so, they'd be back to normal again.

…He wondered if it was too late to apologize now.

He turned back over in his bed to face Paul, pretending to only be casually rolling over in his sleep. Much to his distress, he found that the other boy's bed was empty, and the bedroom door was wide open, allowing the light from the hallway lamp to stream softly into the room.

He suddenly felt a lot worse.

…How long had Paul been gone? John was prone to becoming lost in thought, sure, but had he _really_ not noticed a _whole person_ getting up and leaving the room? What if Paul had said something to him, but he'd been too deep in thought to notice? What if Paul thought he was ignoring him? (Okay, yeah, he _had_ been ignoring him before, but now he was sorry about it, wasn't he?)

John hurriedly slipped from his bed and moved to the door, hoping Paul hadn't gotten too far. But the little bird was either faster than he thought, or really had been gone for a while, because he was nowhere to be seen.

The rest of the house was dark, and John hadn't grabbed his glasses in his haste, so he tiptoed down the hallway with one hand on the wall to find his way. The only other light was coming from the door to Brian's bedroom, so that's where he went first.

Peering in, John saw the man sitting at his desk, in front of what looked like boring grown-up papers. He must have been doing something important, but now he was fast asleep, a pen still limply hanging between his fingers. (Brian really needed a holiday, didn't he? John made a note to be a little less fussy tomorrow morning.) Either way, Paul wasn't in the room, so it wasn't of any more interest to him.

He carried on down the hall, and stopped when he reached the top of the stairs. "…Paul…?" he called softly, surprising himself when he heard his voice tremble. There was no answer, and so John delicately made his way down the steps. He was only halfway down them when he heard music. (Or something like it, anyway.) It was a few piano notes, pressed lightly and far enough apart that it wouldn't be heard by anyone still sleeping upstairs.

Sure enough, Paul was sitting at the keys, small fingers drifting across them with a delicacy that few people outside of the house had seen. John didn't recognize the tune, but he also wasn't paying enough attention to it to make sure. Whatever it was, it sounded kind of sad.

He hesitated at the door; Paul hadn't seemed to notice him, or maybe he was just ignoring him on purpose. He was almost glad for the lack of acknowledgement, because he didn't know what he was going to say.

…What was he _supposed_ to say?

Why had he even come down here? To apologize?

It wasn't _his_ fault that Paul had woken him up and taunted him with some stupid secret. Anyone would have reacted the same way in his position, surely. He shouldn't have to come crawling back to Paul and apologize to him; if anything, Paul should really be apologizing to _him_, right…?

Of… _course_, right.

(Right?)

His brain told himself to leave Paul to his pouting, and go back upstairs to bed, but try as he might, his feet wouldn't listen. (Maybe they didn't believe his brain, either.) So he stood there, awkwardly wrestling with himself, while Paul continued to softly play. He'd finally convinced himself enough to take a step back when the music stopped.

Paul turned, looking surprised (and almost frightened) at the figure in the doorway before realizing who it was. "…Oh," he said simply, and John – still blindly fumbling in the dark – could only assume he'd been spotted. "Thought you were going back to sleep." The tone was genuine enough; to anyone else, the boy sounded like he'd already forgave and forgot by now. But John knew better than to think Paul wasn't still a _little_ bothered.

Paul was good at hiding his feelings, you know. He'd always act nice and polite (which the old ladies _adored_, by the way), but in the end, he probably didn't _really_ like you as much as you thought he did. On the other hand, if he _did_ actually like you, well… there'd be no question about it.

And as Paul's mutually-professed best friend, John felt like he generally had a good idea of what Paul was thinking. (Or maybe not, and he was just being full of himself.) Either way, Paul still seemed a little upset at him, but was trying not to let on about it.

(That was Paul for you.)

"…Was I too loud?" the boy asked, slipping from the piano bench.

John shook his head, finding it hard to say anything for some reason.

"Why'd you come down, then?"

…It was a simple question, and it should have had a simple answer. "I was worried," John decided to say. Wait, no, not that. He changed his mind and decided on "I felt bad and came to say sorry." But for some reason, he didn't say either of those things. He panicked and blurted out "I was thirsty" instead.

Paul didn't say anything for a moment. He glanced towards the kitchen, then back again at John. "…Can I have some, too?" he asked, voice even softer than it was before.

…It wasn't _actually_ a request to have a drink, and they both knew it. It was a request for _permission_ – for a sort of truce – to sit and be together and not be angry anymore. "Of course," John wanted to say.

"It's a free kitchen, isn't it?" he said instead, already moving to the other room. He couldn't hear Paul following, but he must have, because by the time he'd retrieved the juice from the refrigerator, there were two empty glasses on the table, ready to be filled.

"…Brian doesn't like us drinking juice before bed, y'know," Paul said softly, already sitting patiently in one of the chairs. "He'd have us brush our teeth again."

John poured a glass anyway. "Well, Brian's not to find out, then. Gear?"

"Alright, gear," Paul grinned.

They sat in silence for a while, taking turns sipping from their respective glass. John drank slow on purpose, to avoid having to start talking again. As a result, Paul was done first, and set down his empty glass, pondering the silence for a few moments before taking a deep breath.

"…I had a nightmare," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. (For a boy that John considered to be generally loud, Paul was rather adept at becoming quieter and quieter as the night went on.)

"…Oh," was all John managed to say, and there was an awkward pause. "W-was it bad?" he asked, in an attempt to quell the silence. He immediately realized that that was a stupid thing to ask, because _of course_ nightmares were bad. But before he could say anything else, Paul answered him with a shrug.

"Think so; I don't remember a lot. Just that… everyone went away, and I was all by myself." He toyed with his glass for a beat or two and avoided looking John in the eye. "…S'pose it doesn't sound so scary when I've said it aloud, does it?" he admitted.

"…_I'd_ never go away n' leave you alone, y'know," John heard himself say. He quickly corrected himself. "None of us would."

Paul didn't answer, and that made John nervous for some reason.

"It's only a dream, after all," he added awkwardly.

"…You really wouldn't?" Paul asked then, looking up from his glass to meet John's gaze. This time it was the older boy's turn to look away.

"W-well, not unless you were being a right pain, a'course," John said teasingly, nudging Paul's arm. While the boy didn't laugh or tease back, he did smile a little, which was something. There was a little pause, wherein John finished his juice. "…D'you come down here a lot?" he asked, and Paul gave him a confused look.

"…To the kitchen?"

John gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "_No_, you ninny. I mean to play. You were playing earlier, n'all."

"Oh, that," Paul said, looking a little sheepish. He shrugged. "Sometimes. When I can't sleep, y'know. Makes me tired." As if on cue, the boy yawned; John couldn't help but follow suit. "I try not to be loud, but sometimes I forget."

"I've never heard," John said, and then felt bad about it for some reason.

"…It's sure worked, 'cause I'm tired now, what with the playing n'the juice n'all." Paul yawned again, and so John did as well.

"Well, it's still night time," John pointed out jokingly. "Your bed's up there, empty and waiting for you, y'know."

"…Yeah," Paul mumbled distractedly, and slipped from the chair, John close behind. The two then put their cups away and padded softly back up the stairs in relative silence. It was only when Paul stopped just short of the bedroom door that their conversation picked up again.

John turned to look at him. "…What's wrong now?"

Paul hesitated, looking away. "…Well… y'know earlier, when I told you my nightmare?"

"Yeah?"

"That wasn't… why I woke you up."

John raised an eyebrow, mentally preparing himself for what could be another argument. "…What, then?"

Paul bit his lip. "I… wanted to ask… if I could… sleep with you."

A pause.

"…What?"

Paul frowned deeply. "…I _told_ you I _don't like_ saying it. Stop making me s—"

"W-why me?" John interrupted, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"…What do you mean?"

He fidgeted, feeling a bit flustered. "It's just… you know. Ritchie's better at that sort of thing. Nightmares, calming you down, and all that. O-or Brian. They'd be better to go to than me."

Paul shrugged. "…Just wanted you instead. That's all."

John didn't say anything.

(What was he _supposed_ to say?)

He was flattered, of course. Of all people to go to, Paul had chosen _him_. He'd deliberately woken _John_ up because he wanted to be comforted by _him_ rather than anyone else. He didn't go to Ritchie, or George, or Brian; he went to John first, over _everyone else_. So… yeah, he was flattered.

…But then, he hadn't exactly proven himself, had he? The evening's events _alone_ were a testament to why he was never anyone's comforting go-to. After all, what had John _really_ done to make Paul feel better? He'd snapped at him, spied on him, and then poured him some juice, so… yeah, his comforting tactics were a bit less than subpar.

But then… Paul should've _known_ better than to pick him, right? I mean, really, what had he expected? A kiss on the forehead and a lullaby? Of _course_ John was going to be a bad choice, so it was really on _Paul's_ head if he didn't feel very comforted.

But then _again_… John was supposed to be Paul's friend – no, his mutually-professed _best_ friend – so he was basically obligated to help him out in a time like this. It shouldn't have been Paul's fault that John couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut.

"M'sorry," John said finally, without thinking. "…For earlier. Didn't mean to make you leave." His voice was low, and he suddenly had a _lot_ more empathy towards Paul's earlier mumbling; it was definitely easier to say hard things quietly than it was to say them out loud.

"…M'sorry too," Paul replied. "I didn't mean to be so… so…" He waved his hand around, trying to find the right word. But John knew what he meant anyway.

"So '_Paul_'?" he suggested, and Paul giggled softly.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"…Well, I didn't mean to be so '_John_' either."

Paul shrugged, still smiling. "S'alright."

John wasn't so sure it was, but he didn't say so; he wasn't interested in fighting with Paul if he had the means of preventing himself.

Paul yawned for the third time, and John resisted, gripping the bedroom door handle.

"You ready to go back to bed, then?" the older boy asked, and Paul nodded wordlessly, rubbing at his eye. "Alright, come on, then. And be quiet."

"I'm _always_ quiet," Paul insisted sleepily, though still a little too loud than was probably appropriate.

John let him in first, then turned back to re-close the door. By the time he'd fumbled back to his bed, Paul was already making himself comfortable there with his own pillow and blanket. John realized he'd never actually agreed to the arrangement, back when Paul had finally asked. Still, he wasn't about to kick the boy out now, so he clambered into the bed beside him.

"If you're gonna sleep here," he said, pulling his blanket over top of both of them, "you'd better not kick me. Or pee."

"I don't pee the bed," Paul grumbled, sounding already half-asleep. "That's baby stuff. M'not a baby."

"If you say so," John teased, and Paul weakly shoved him.

"_You'd_ better not snore, or… I'll push you off the bed."

"It's _my bed_!" John scoffed incredulously, and Paul slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shhh! You're being too loud!" he giggled, though his voice was ironically almost the same volume.

"Only because you were first!" John laughed back, pushing Paul's hand away.

"_Shhhhhhh_!" hissed a tiny – and groggy – voice from the other side of the room. "It's _sleep_ time! Time for _sleep_, not talking!"

John and Paul were immediately struck silent, and laid freakishly still until they heard George sigh and collapse back into his bed sheets. A beat passed, before John looked over at Paul, and Paul looked back at John. They simultaneously looked away again in order to keep themselves from bursting into laughter, and looked at the ceiling instead.

"…Goodnight," Paul whispered (appropriately quietly) after a moment, from where he was still pressed against John's side. He was still grinning, from the sound of it.

"…Night," John echoed, still blinking at the ceiling. (And then the wall, and then the shadow, and then the window, and _then_ the ceiling again.)

In a few minutes, John heard the breathing beside him slow into a gentle rhythm, and he peered over at Paul. The other boy was no more than a blurry silhouette in the dark of the room, but he knew he was asleep. He hoped he was dreaming sweet dreams now, instead.

Eventually, John fell asleep as well, and had his own dream, about a little bird. In the morning, Paul told him he'd had the same dream, and that it must have meant something really special. Like magic.

…That was Paul for you.


End file.
